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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264634">Things Unsaid</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/catie_writes_things/pseuds/catie_writes_things'>catie_writes_things</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>better than things dreamed of in the forest [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adultery, Angst, F/M, Gen, Guilt, Married Aang/Katara, katara pov, the adultery fic for people who hate adultery fics: once more with clarity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:09:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,724</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264634</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/catie_writes_things/pseuds/catie_writes_things</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things Katara simply doesn't want to face. One thing, specifically, that she did. But a guilty conscience can't be cleansed like dirty laundry, and sins don't just wash off in the bath.</p><p>[Companion piece to Sin and Duty.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aang/Katara (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>better than things dreamed of in the forest [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751542</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>172</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Things Unsaid</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a companion piece to my fic Sin and Duty and has some mild spoilers for that story. The details of this one-shot have always been in my mind as I wrote, but now that I'm coming closer to the end I've realized there's simply no room for them in the main story which is told from Bumi's point of view.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Katara did not want to wake up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was never a morning person, if she didn’t have to be, but the bright sunlight teasing against her closed eyelids told her it was already later than she usually slept. She also wasn’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired</span>
  </em>
  <span> anymore, so much as she had the odd sensation that she’d been having a pleasant dream that she didn’t want to leave behind, or at least that what she had been dreaming about was more appealing than what she was going to wake up to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yes, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut tighter and wriggling uncomfortably under the covers, if she could just stay asleep, she wouldn’t have to face…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Zuko.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes flew open with a start, and she sat upright in bed, pulling the covers up over her bare torso. Heart pounding, she looked to the spot in the bed next to her. Empty. He was nowhere to be seen in the bedroom, and the bathroom door was open. The bedroom door was shut tight, though Katara remembered with a rush of shame that in the rapid progression of events the night before it had been left open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She scrambled out of bed, grabbing her dressing gown and tying it around her waist with shaking hands. If he was still in the house… But before she exited the room, she finally noticed the folded paper propped up on the trunk at the foot of her bed. She seized it, flipped it open, and found her name written at the top, with plenty of room, as if he had meant to write a long letter - explaining, or excusing, or accusing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But all it said was, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara rushed to the window. They had a view of the bay, brilliant in the morning sun, but where the Fire Lord’s ship had been anchored the night before, there was now only the sparkling surface of the water. She stumbled back, hugging herself around the waist, and sat on the edge of the bed. He was gone. He had left her, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Get a grip, she told herself, fighting panicked sobs. He was supposed to leave. He had told her yesterday he would depart early in the morning. She had no right to expect him to stay. They had no right to…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stood, pushing those thoughts away with great effort. It was a mistake, what she had done. It should never have happened. She would not dwell on it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tossing the note aside, she went into the bathroom, and filled the tub. A good soak would clear her head, make her feel more herself. She washed her hair, scrubbed vigorously at her skin, cleansing away all the memories, every place she had let him touch her. Her skin was raw by the time she stepped out of the bath, her fingers a wrinkled mess, but her head felt clearer. She felt sure, as she retied her dressing gown securely, that she could put it all behind her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then she went back into the bedroom, and saw the unmade bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a growl of frustration and a twist in her stomach, she stripped the bed linens, and grabbed yesterday’s clothes from where they lay discarded on the floor for good measure. Not a single thread of red or gold had been left behind. He had been thorough. So would she.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was not her usual laundry day, but the routine was familiar enough, something to focus on. Fill the washbasin. Heat the water. Soak the sheets and the clothes and add the soap. Scrub, rinse, wring, and dry with her bending. Let them air in the sun for good measure, clean white sheets on the line billowing in the gentle breeze, spotless and innocent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She went back inside, and put clean sheets on the bed. She dressed - dark blue leggings, pale blue robe, soft brown moccasins. She braided her hair and fixed the loops in place with the beads that had little airbending symbols painted on them, the ones that had been an anniversary present. Then at last she looked her reflection in the eye.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looked no different than she always had.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But in the corner of the mirror, something else caught her eye - a bit of paper tossed carelessly on the floor. Hurriedly she picked it up, pressing down the single crease along its center. No need to look at the message again. She folded it once more, into quarters, stuffed it into her pocket, and then left the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the kitchen, she deftly started the cooking fire with the spark rocks, and let it get hot while she got out the ingredients for her breakfast. But before she set the rice pot to boil, she withdrew the paper and, without the slightest hesitation, tossed it into the flames.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She paused to watch it burn, making sure it was consumed completely. There, she told herself. That was that. It was done.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She spent the rest of the day cleaning the house from top to bottom. She swept the floors, dusted all the shelves, polished the windows. Somehow, that evening, the empty house felt lonelier than ever.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aang came home three days later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She said nothing. He noticed nothing amiss. He was tired, and told her sad stories of the state of affairs in Omashu, of King Bumi’s failing health. His oldest living friend was dying, just one more reminder of everything he had lost.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She poured all of her love into every kiss, as if she could heal those wounds, as if she were hoping her embrace would be strong enough to pin him down, to keep him by her side this time. But her husband was an Air Nomad, born to fly, and the Avatar, born to go where duty called him. Three weeks later, he was called away again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could come with me,” he offered. “Like the old days.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it wasn’t the old days anymore. Her heart longed for home, not adventure. Stability, not freedom. Aang might have had a century on her in age, technically, but when she saw that wanderlust in his eyes, Katara felt positively ancient.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t explain it to him, least of all now. But she stayed behind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was gone for a full month, dealing with Omashu again. But this time, Katara soon realized, he hadn’t left her alone.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s definitely going to be an airbender,” Aang said, smiling, hand resting on her round stomach. “Feels like he’s already started practicing in there.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara covered his hand with her own, and turned her face towards him on the pillow. “Feels more like a waterbending form to me,” she teased. “And it could be a girl.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“True,” Aang conceded, pressing closer to her and nuzzling kisses along her jaw. “It could be a girl.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And a waterbender,” Katara insisted with a laugh, nudging her husband playfully with her elbow. He fell back onto the bed with an exaggerated grunt, making her laugh even more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess, if you’re so sure,” Aang said, not sounding convinced. He propped himself up on one elbow. “But all the children born to the Air Nomads were always airbenders.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara blinked and looked away from him, her eyes suddenly starting to sting. “They didn’t have mothers from the Southern Water Tribe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Aang said apologetically, gripping her hand and lacing their fingers together. “That’s not what I meant. I know waterbending is important to you, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara nodded, and let her husband pull her into his arms and hold her, but the tears came anyway. She could blame the pregnancy, and it wouldn’t even be completely wrong. But that wasn’t what she had meant either, really.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t even sure this child had an Air Nomad for a father.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the daze of having just given birth, the first thing Katara said was, “What color are his eyes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The midwife chuckled and told her that the baby’s eyes were colorless, like most newborns, and she would have to wait and see. Wait and see. She supposed she had known that was what she would have to do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first time Aang held the baby, he was so happy. “Hello, Bumi,” he said, naming the child after his recently departed friend. “It’s good to finally meet you.” Good to finally have a chance at getting back some of what he had lost, of no longer being the last airbender. Surely, Katara thought, the spirits would give him that much. They wouldn’t be so cruel as to take that away from him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But was the cruelty really theirs?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Katara loved her son, and loved him dearly. But she watched him grow with anxiety bordering on dread. His colorless newborn eyes turned to brown - neither light nor dark, just ordinary brown, the kind found in all the nations. His hair was thick and unruly like hers, even from infancy, though a few shades darker. Like Aang’s, her father had commented when he met his grandson. Yes, Katara had thought, but not only like Aang’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he grew from an infant to a toddler, he was a happy child, laughing easily. “Such lightness of heart!” Aang observed. “An airbender if there ever was one!” But Katara couldn’t help wondering about another child, and what he might have been like before she had ever known him, before loss and scars had smothered the spark of his own joy into quieter embers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Truthfully, her son reminded her the most of Sokka. But still, she studied his face every night when she put him to bed, looking for any definitive sign, at the same time afraid of what she might see, and never quite trusting her own eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He caused her a great deal of worry, her little boy, and she had no one she could turn to, no one to confide in about her secret fears. Still, she loved him.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aang did not get his wish. Bumi’s fifth birthday came and passed, and no sign of airbending manifested itself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he had shown no signs of waterbending, either. “It could still happen,” Katara whispered to her husband in the darkness of their bedroom that night. “Some children are late benders.” She reached for him, but he pulled away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not Air Nomad children,” he said softly, mournfully. “We were all able to bend by his age.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were no tears this time, just an ache in her heart, deep and festering. “Aang,” she said, her voice small and trembling. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was silent for a long moment. She wondered if he would ask her what she meant, pry her secret out of her at last. She half wanted him to, and was half terrified that he might. But when he spoke again, tiredly, all he said was, “It’s not your fault.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If only he knew.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next week Aang left to visit the Fire Nation. He had asked her to come again. “You and Bumi haven’t met Zuko’s daughter,” he had pointed out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had smiled, shaken her head, and insisted they were fine staying behind on Kyoshi. It wasn’t the truth, but she could hardly tell him the real reason she didn’t want to see Zuko.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aang had accepted her lame excuses. She wondered whether she was really so good at lying to him, or if he just wasn’t listening very carefully anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It went on like that for another year. Katara’s last shred of hope slowly faded just as Aang’s had. Bumi was not to be a bender. It was not the worst outcome, she knew, but she supposed it was punishment enough for her sins.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her son was still her consolation, in his own fashion, her comfort when Aang was away. And that seemed to be increasingly often. Somehow, the world needed the Avatar even more in peacetime than it had when they were at war, or perhaps those in power were simply more eager for his counsel now that he was no longer a twelve-year-old child.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Either way, it meant Katara was alone with Bumi when it happened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was cleaning up after lunch, washing dishes, and had sent her son off to play. But a few minutes later, she heard him come bounding back into the kitchen. “Mom!” he called out excitedly. “Look what I can do!” She half turned, expecting to see some harmless trick he had learned from Sokka.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead she saw him holding fire in his hands, and though later she would realize it was only a trick of the light, that little flame reflected in his eyes made them shine like gold. In that flame, she saw all her lies and self-assurances going up in smoke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She forced herself to smile, but Bumi must have seen her fear anyway, for he shrank back, hands closing, putting out the fire. “Is that bad?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes were brown again, but staring up at her with such apprehension about having displeased her, she couldn’t believe she had ever doubted that this was Zuko’s son.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, it’s not bad,” she told him, crouching down and pulling him close to her. It wasn’t his fault. She would hold nothing against him. “It’s...it’s very special, what you can do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was still her son, and she held him tightly for a long moment. He was her son, and she loved him, but what would the rest of the world think? It could ruin them all, break their family and their hard-won peace, if her secret got out. Surely that wasn’t what the spirits wanted. Fire was not an element destined to destroy, she knew that now. Surely this was meant to be her burden to bear, just as the sin had been hers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She drew back, holding Bumi and arms length. “In fact,” she said to him carefully, “It’s so special, I think we should keep it just between us.” She squeezed his shoulders. “Our secret.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bumi nodded, the picture of innocence. “Why?” he asked, childishly trusting her to explain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If other people found out…” she began, letting go of his shoulders to grip his hands instead. She paused, considering. He was too young for the full truth of what would happen. She couldn’t put that burden on him. “Well, they wouldn’t understand. Better you and I are the only ones to know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bumi blinked up at her. “And Dad?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gripped his hands more tightly. “No,” she insisted, fighting another wave of panic. “No one else, not even your father. Is that clear?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bumi nodded, and she pulled him into a hug again. More to herself than to him, she added in a whisper, “Your father especially wouldn’t understand.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>What Katara knew of firebending, she started teaching Bumi right away. He needed to be able to control his fire, if their secret was really going to be safe between them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their secret. Her son shared it with her now - only in part, he was too young to realize what his bending meant, but that day would come, she knew. She had thought of him as her comfort, her companion in her loneliness. She had never wanted it to be like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She studied his face again that night as he slept. Was it her imagination, because now she knew, or was there something of Zuko in the shape of his nose, or the arch of his brow? Would it grow more pronounced as he got older?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Those were worries for another day, she decided, getting up and leaving her son’s room. There would be more questions, more secrets, and more lies to come in the future, she knew, but she could only deal with so much at one time. Aang would be home in a few days. And she had a letter to write.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sat at the kitchen table with a blank sheet of paper spread before her by the light of a single candle. She wrote Zuko’s name on top, with plenty of space left to write a long message, to tell him everything. But her heart couldn’t find the words, and her pen remained still in her hand for a long time. What if someone read the letter who shouldn’t? What if Zuko’s wife saw it?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The note she sent off the next morning was only a single line:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry, too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  
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